


Inching Forward

by umbrellaless22



Series: A Forward Path [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, M/M, Not Beta Read, Original Character-centric, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Third Person, Slice of Life, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:21:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28284645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umbrellaless22/pseuds/umbrellaless22
Summary: This won't make a lick of sense if you haven't readA Forward Path.Just a little domestic fluff that happens somewhere between Ch. 94 and the epilogue.Heed the warnings of extreme fluff!
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: A Forward Path [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1871332
Comments: 10
Kudos: 79





	Inching Forward

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mimbelwimbel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mimbelwimbel/gifts).



> Just wanted some fluff and missed these guys. Occurs around Sep. 2019 (a few minutes after the main events of A Forward Path, and prior to the epilogue). Thanks for stopping by!
> 
> This is unbeta-ed but dedicated to my dear friend and the beta for my current story, MimbelWimbel. Merry Christmas, bud! Thanks for all your encouragement!

Draco was so unused to test anxiety that he failed to identify his feelings as such all day. He’d been snappish and irritable, which resulted in Harry taking on that kicked mongrel look. That, of course, only served to make Draco feel more wretched. 

It didn’t help that as of that morning, less than three weeks into term, Clark was on a two day suspension for throwing a punch at the Atwal boy—McGonagall giving credence to the new anti-violence campaign at Hogwarts—and Harry had been required to fetch the boy from King’s Cross when he came in. Clark was sulky, recalcitrant, and refusing to admit even a whit of remorse, about the punch at least. He did, however, apologise for inconveniencing Harry, which Draco supposed was something. Harry, for his part, went out of his way to reassure Clark that he was never an inconvenience, listen to Clark’s rant about Atwal, and generally bestow his sympathies. Draco had bitten his tongue, but only just. He didn’t think it would hurt for Clark to accept his responsibility in this. But that was Harry for you, decent to a fault.

Draco sighed and wandered to the dining room, as the grandfather clock in the hallway chimed two am. He had his entrance examination the following morning, which would permit him to begin healer training at St. Mungo’s. Draco had committed himself to his studies that summer, and had never had difficulties excelling at academics in the past, but he would be mortified to lose his apprenticeship now, when he’d only just secured Upchurch as a mentor. Well, Draco thought, looking at his stack of books on the sideboard, perhaps he would get some last minute review done if sleep was not forthcoming. 

A familiar creak sounded in the corridor. Draco stepped into the drawing room to look down the hall. He was expecting to see Harry there, wanting to coax him back to bed. Instead, he was confronted with Clark: the gangly boy looking frustrated and miserable with his arms full of bedsheets. Clark froze, his face blanching and then flaming bright in the flickering light from the hallways sconces.

“Shit,” was all the boy said. 

For a moment, Draco didn’t piece it together. “What’s—oh,” he said dumbly. Stripping the bed seemed like rather overkill to Draco, but he didn’t press the issue.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Clark hissed. “Can’t you just—I don’t know where this goes. Kreacher does the laundry when I’m here and I’ve only just realised I don’t know how laundry even gets done without a washing machine so I don’t know where to fucking put all this.”

“There’s a clothes cauldron in the basement,” Draco said. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

Clark padded along behind him, wearing fresh flannel sleep pants and another of his endless muggle band T-shirts. In silence, they made their way down the stairs and deposited the linens in the oversized vessel, setting them on to soak with some detergent. 

Draco supposed he should be the adult in this situation. Merlin, he wished Harry had been the one awake for this. “Look, Clark,” he began as they returned to the drawing room, “those sorts of dreams...happen. It’s, ah, quite normal.”

“Oh my God,” Clark moaned in horror, pressing his fingers into closed eyes as though he could unsee the entire event. “You think I had a fucking wet dream? Worse you think I had to be told about wet dreams? I live most of the year in a boys’ fucking dormitory, I know about bloody wet dreams, thanks!”

“Then what—” Draco cut himself off and tried again. “So you—”

“I wet the goddamn bed, Jesus!” Clark cursed, crossing his skinny arms over his equally skinny chest and looking, if possible, even more miserable. “And I said I didn’t want to talk about it.”

Draco wondered if he was allowed to just go and rouse Harry and get him to sort this for him. Harry would know what to do. He’d probably give the kid a hug and some hot cocoa and make a little joke and the whole thing would be easily settled with everyone feeling good about the resolution. But Draco didn’t think walking away just now would send Clark the sort of messages of acceptance and understanding that were expected here. 

“I see,” Draco started, not knowing where he was trying to go with all this. “Are you...alright?”

“Oh peachy, clearly,” Clark huffed. “Can you just tell me where I can find more sheets and forget this ever happened?”

Draco nodded stupidly and led the boy to a linen closet halfway down the hall. He found the required bedding and passed it off to Clark, who grumbled a thanks and ducked into his room. Draco wondered if he was expected to follow or if it really was best to just let it be and not put the child through any further humiliation. 

“Shit!” Clark whispered furiously to himself. “Fucking shit!”

Draco came to the doorway. “What is it?”

Clark was aggressively resisting tears as he motioned helplessly to the mattress. “It’s bloody well soaked, isn’t it? And I don’t fucking know the right spells and I don’t know what to do and—” he sputtered out, covering his face with the bundle of sheets. 

Draco pulled his wand from his sleeve and issued a _Tergeo_ which made short work of the problem. 

“There,” he pointed out. “Done. Not to worry.” 

But Clark refused to show his face. 

Gently, Draco tugged free the fitted sheet. 

“Give me a hand with this, love,” he coaxed. 

“Don’t,” Clark groaned. “Jesus, don’t be nice to me right now, please, I just can’t—”

“Come on, then,” Draco said. “Let’s just make this up and then you can go back to sleep.”

Begrudgingly, Clark dropped the sheet he was still holding onto the desk. He strode to the foot of the bed and yanked dispassionately at a corner of the one Draco was working on.

They finished up in silence. 

“Do you need anything?” Draco asked. He couldn’t help but feel like he had bungled this up somehow. 

“I’m fine,” Clark muttered. 

“You sure?”

“I—fuck, I said I was didn’t I?”

“Considering your expletive to non-expletive ratio tonight, I don’t think I can be blamed for my skepticism.”

Clark perched on the side of his bed, eyes fixed on the rug which covered the maple hardwood of his floor. He looked like he was grinding his molars to dust. 

“That...hasn’t happened. In a long while,” he said, finally. “Since the beginning of first year, really.”

“Alright,” Draco considered. “Do you have some sort of an infection or something? Do we need to take you to a healer?”

“No!” Clark growled. “Jesus, no, nothing like that. I just...I get stressed, I guess. That’s when it happens.”

“And you’re...” Draco paused, nonplussed. The child was only twelve and so far as Draco knew, there were no new threats circling Hogwarts. He couldn't think what might be troubling him. “Currently stressed? About...something?”

Clark looked up finally, his eyebrows furrowed. “You’re kind of bad at this,” he commented. 

Draco sighed. He didn’t need to ask. Occasionally he felt capable when it came to offering comfort, but other times he fell woefully short. “I’m aware. Merlin. Would you like to tell me what’s bothering you? Or do you want me to go wake Harry. I’ll not be offended if you do.”

“It’s fine,” Clark shrugged. “Leave him be.”

There was another long moment and Draco wondered what on earth he was supposed to say. Thankfully, Clark spoke again before he had to come up with something. 

“It’s nothing,” the boy said finally. “Or, it’s not one thing. There was no traumatic event or anything, nothing you have to worry about.”

“Yes. Well, I’m glad to hear that, but clearly it’s something.”

Clark shrugged. It wasn’t helpful.

“Clark,” Draco prompted gently.

“I’m homesick, alright?” Clark grumbled. 

Draco didn’t know why the words caught him off guard. “Oh. For your mum?”

“No, not really. I’m used to being without her.” The kid brought his bare feet up to rest the soles against the side of the bed. Colour rose in his cheeks. “For this place, I guess. You and Harry were around last year. I knew if something terrible happened it would be okay; you’d sort it.”

“What makes you think that something terrible will happen?” Draco asked thoughtfully. 

“Just tends to, doesn’t it?”

Draco sat himself down beside Clark. He put his hands on his knees. “It could,” he admitted. “You know better than most that terrible things happen.”

“Wow, real reassuring there, Draco.”

“You would prefer I lie to you?”

Clark swallowed. “No.”

“Alright then. Terrible things happen. But love, I don’t have reason to think they will, just now, hm? We’ve no evidence that something is afoot.”

“I guess not.”

“So let’s not get ahead of ourselves, how about? Besides, you think if something terrible happens, Potter and I wouldn’t come for you immediately?”

“You wouldn’t if you didn’t know.”

“We’d know quickly enough. Harry tends to be alerted of such things.”

“He never checks his post.”

“I don’t think they’d be sending an owl if you were in mortal danger, darling.”

“I guess you’re right,” Clark murmured. He shuffled closer. Draco finally relaxed. This he knew how to do. He wrapped an arm around those bony shoulders and gave a comforting squeeze. 

“I usually am,” he agreed.

“Arsehole.”

“Doesn’t change the facts. Does all this have anything to do with your punching Atwal?”

Clark shifted uneasily. “Probably. He won’t leave me alone. Always checking up on me like I’m his baby brother or something, it’s insufferable. Think he takes some sort of public pride in looking out for Harry Potter’s kid. I mean,” Clark stuttered, backpedaling and flushing. “Not that I’m Harry’s kid, oh Jesus—”

“It’s alright,” Draco cut the boy off before he could dissolve into utter mortification. “You sort of are, in plenty of ways. His. And mine, too. Surely you know that.”

“Yeah,” Clark breathed. “Still. It’s, um, kind of nice to hear it.”

Draco dropped a kiss to the top of Clark’s head. “No more punching Atwal,” he insisted. 

Clark gave a long suffering sigh. “Fine,” he said.

“Will you be able to get some sleep?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Very well, then.” Draco rose and made his way to the door. Once there, he turned. Clark was cuddled up under the duvet. “And Clark?”

“Hm?”

“I’m glad you’re alright. I know I can be somewhat...reserved. All this doesn’t come as easily to me as it does to Harry. He cares for you a great deal, loves you really. And, well, so do I. Just so you’re aware.”

The corner of Clark’s mouth twitched mischievously. "You okay?" he asked. 

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?"

"Just looked like that hurt a bit."

Clark was on the verge of laughing now, ruining the moment, or perhaps salvaging it, Draco didn’t know. 

"Oh, shut up," he glowered. 

******

After ninety minutes of review, Draco finally felt fatigued enough for sleep, feeling more certain and settled about the content of the exam. Extinguishing the candles with a quick wave of his wand, he made his way to bed. 

Harry stirred as Draco wound himself around the other boy’s body. 

“Alright?” Harry asked, voice raspy with sleep. 

“Mm,” Draco agreed, nuzzling into Harry’s neck and savouring his familiar scent. “Perfect, actually.”


End file.
